


A Breath Is Also A Sound

by wyvern



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Musicians, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyvern/pseuds/wyvern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For weeks, Arthur has been coming to the club to listen to this band. Or, rather, to watch their guitarist use those beautiful long fingers of his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Breath Is Also A Sound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ca_te](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ca_te/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, ca_te! I hope you won't be too disappointed, even if I didn't quite use the prompt you gave me.
> 
> A huge thank you to Thursday_Next (who cut all the crap and told me of all the inconsistencies and wrong turns I made when I wrote this, made great suggestions, and without whom this story would have been a train wreck of epic proportions), and to Cookie (who, like always, saved me from all the grammatical traps I stumbled into while writing). Any remaining errors are my own, however. Thank you to Donna, too, who cheered me on and held my hand when I wanted nothing else but to crawl under my bedcovers and never to emerge again.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters of Merlin belongs to BBC and Shine. I don't make any money off this project.

 

~~*~~

It’s impossible to get into the club without being bumped into at least three times. This time, Arthur’s shoulder gets harshly shoved five times before he reaches the inner room. Smaller than people might expect considering the club’s reputation of hosting the wildest parties this decade, it’s rectangular with a bar by the back wall to the right of the entrance, and the stage, where the band, Sound, is now packing down their stuff, takes up the entire opposite wall.

In the darkness, Arthur forgets for a second why he’s even there. There are too many people, too much smoke, too much _sound_. But he’s determined. If he’s going to talk to that guy, then he needs to be here. This is the only place Arthur knows for sure that the band plays. If he doesn’t talk to him tonight – this guy whose name Arthur doesn’t even know – he might disappear forever if the band isn’t allowed back for another gig.

The music isn’t the sort that Arthur normally enjoys, but the more he listens to it, the more he appreciates the heavy beat and the strangely alluring voice of the female singer. The first three times he was here when Sound was playing, he didn’t concentrate enough on the music to catch the lyrics, instead being caught up in its pulsing beat. He has now, though, and they feel too emotional – too deep, if he’s allowed to be a bit dorky about it – for what the melodies suggest. Privately, he hopes this is because the guy is the writer. Arthur would love that.

He’s not going to lie – Arthur hadn’t cared about the music at first, just about the lanky guy with pale skin, dark hair and indecently long, thin fingers who could transform the simple movement of strings into something that now reverberates through Arthur’s very core. The very first time, he hadn’t even come here by choice. It had been his best friend Leon who had dragged him along on one of his quests to find a suitable person to shag. (It had failed that night – like it most often does – but Arthur is very grateful that Leon is sometimes an unbearably horny bastard. Especially this time.)

Arthur’s hands are sweaty and he rubs them nervously on his trousers as he thinks about what he’s going to say. He’s going to be cool about it, maybe ask for a smoke, lean in close, get the guy’s name and then kiss those gorgeous lips. That’d... that would be cool. He imagines how the lean fingers would take the cigarette out of Arthur’s mouth and flick it away before gripping the hair of his nape and pulling him in for a kiss. It’s careful at first, but soon gets heated and when they break apart, those blue eyes show Arthur everything he wants to see...

Someone bumps into Arthur, making the fantasy disappear with a shattering sound. When he turns around, he realises that the sound is actually coming from behind the bar, where a blonde girl – roughly his own age – has managed to tip an entire row of glasses onto the floor, breaking dozens.

Looking up, she meets Arthur’s eyes, smiles goofily and shrugs. Arthur smiles back, kindly, before leaning over the bar to be heard.

“Do you need help?”

The girl nods happily, waves for him to walk around the bar and lets him in. Arthur is handed a big broom and gets a small smile as encouragement while the girl continues to serve her patrons, leaving him to deal with the glassy mess. Keeping an eye on the stage, Arthur is hoping that his chivalry won’t mean he’ll lose his chance with the thin guy on stage. The guy who is now helping the sweet-looking girl carry her drums backstage. It doesn’t look like they’ve got a whole lot left to do, and Arthur gets anxious he’s going to miss them again tonight, just like last weekend.

The other girl – the one that looks angry all the time, but has a gorgeous voice as well as face – suddenly appears and makes a hurried hand gesture at the gangly guy and the sweet-looking girl. They both quickly scramble together what they’ve got left on stage and then disappear behind a door. The breath catches in Arthur’s throat. He needs to– needs to–

“I’ve got to go, sorry,” he says to the blonde bartender, leans the broom on the back wall before slipping out from behind the bar.

“Hey! Weren’t you supposed to–” she shouts after him, an incredulous tint to her voice, but he doesn’t turn around.

Arthur’s only got eyes for the black door where the guy disappeared. Have they packed up and left already? God, why does he always have to be so chivalrous and try to help everybody? He shouldn’t have helped the girl out, he should have gone straight for the stage and talked to the guy. He should have, he should have, _he should have_ –

When he reaches the door, it’s unlocked and swings open effortlessly. The quiet murmur of voices in the back room all go quiet at once, and everybody’s eyes are on Arthur. That– was unexpected.

There are more people than just the band in the small room. The band consists of five people: two girls and three guys. Here, there are at least twelve people, and Arthur doesn’t know who the others are. He can see at least three girls in rather scanty dresses draped over two of the guys in the band – but not _his guy_ (thank God). The kind-looking girl sits on the armrest of the sofa, a bloke slowly running a hand through her curly, beautiful hair over and over again. He looks entranced by it, and for a split second, Arthur can’t draw his gaze away, either.

When someone coughs and breaks the silence, Arthur snaps out of it. “Er,” he says, “er.”

The angry girl recovers first. “Eloquent. You’re not allowed back here. Out.”

She makes a shooing gesture with her hand, but Arthur doesn’t move. He can feel her eyes taking in his appearance, and suddenly, there’s a glint of recognition in them. Her jaw tenses minutely, as if preparing to fight.

“But I–” he starts, but he gets interrupted.

“You haven’t been invited, I’m pretty sure. None of us would mix with a _someone like you_.” Her dark hair swishes dangerously as she gestures to Arthur’s clothes.

Feeling uncomfortable by the attention, Arthur realises for the first time that he stands out a bit like a sore thumb in the hip club. He’s come directly from the office – like he always does – and is wearing pressed, dark trousers and a plain, white dress shirt. Well, at least he had insight enough to take off his jacket and tie.

 It’s weird being out of his element, because Arthur was practically brought up in a suit and he didn’t really expect to get this much negative attention because of it. Smart clothing – i.e. a designer suit – is what his father demands he wears at work, because Arthur represents both the company and the Pendragons as a family. Like their name is something special, Arthur thinks.

But as he looks around, Arthur can see how his clothes – albeit nice – definitely are _different_ than the tattered, cool clothes the band members and everyone else in the small back room are wearing.

“You look like a lawyer _or something_.” Her voice is sharp and somehow yet calculating.

Arthur blushes. “Er,” he says again. “Er.”

“Yeah, mate, we heard you the first time.”

“No, hey, that’s not quite fair! You’re being a–”

Arthur bites down on his tongue before ending that sentence with a description he is convinced is accurate even on a good day. There’s no missing how the girl’s eyes narrow in suspicion, and she’s just about to answer when–

“Morgana...” the kind-looking girl says, softly.

The girl called Morgana half-turns towards the others. “What, Gwen? Do _you_ want to talk to him? He’s a–!”

“Don’t be rude. He’s _very_ pretty and we don’t even know what he wants.”

She licks her lips as she gets up from the scruffy-looking sofa. The guy fiddling with her hair slowly stretches out his hand after her, but doesn’t rise. Walking towards Arthur, the girl’s walk is smooth and slow, a little bit like a cat. A house cat, looking like it’s coming closer to rub her head on his hand. Arthur doesn’t trust cats, though. They all have vicious claws. But when she smiles at him, Arthur can’t help but to relax a little. She has a very disarming way, this woman, Arthur thinks, but he can still feel the blush on his face.

“So,” the girl says, “I’m Gwen. Did you want me, or is it scary Morgana you’re after?”

Obviously, they’re used to people coming here to hook up with them, and for a second, Arthur considers saying _yes, I’d love to hook up with you, Gwen_ , just because it’s easiest that way. But then he sees the lanky frame of the guy he’s been obsessing over for the last two months sitting behind of the others, fiddling with something he’s holding, and swallows hard.

Following his gaze, Gwen gives a quiet, startled sound. “Merlin? You want _Merlin_?”

Merlin – the guy with the messy hair, gorgeous lips, and those amazingly deft fingers that can play the guitar like no one Arthur’s ever seen – looks up, surprised at hearing his name mentioned.

“Me, what?” he says like he hasn’t heard the previous conversation at all, and leans forward to get a better look at the guy in the doorway.

That’s when Arthur’s body takes over where his brain can’t. He turns and runs, and Morgana’s high-pitched laugh follow him all the way out the club door.

 

~~*~~

 

It takes a full week until Arthur dares come back. He doesn’t make a play for the back door this time, just stays by the bar and drinks beer until he feels more courageous. It might be too much, he realises, when someone topples into him and he almost falls over. The band is playing today. Arthur left work an hour early to get here in time, and on the way over, he sort-of hoped that they wouldn’t be here. It would have made his life easier.

He could have gone home, forgotten about Merlin – _Merlin_... the name rolls beautifully on his tongue – got married to some girl, had a couple of kids, and just been normal. This isn’t normal, and Arthur knows it. His dad has always hated homosexuals, and now his son is one. It took a long time for Arthur to realise it and even longer to accept that about himself, but he does find boys, guys, _men_ , more attractive than any girl he’s ever laid eyes on. Not even that witch Morgana, who admittedly is absolutely stunning, can sway him. He’s very sure of that. He’s tried to convince himself enough times by bedding girl after girl and always having to think about a boy to finish.

He’s also very sure that the only one he wants is Merlin. And here Arthur is, not giving up, but still not brave enough to just talk to the man. Just skulking around, watching like a creep.

“I know you! Hey, broom boy!”

Arthur spins around. The girl who tended the bar last time smiles at him, looking gloriously happy about having recognised him.

“Oh,” Arthur says, “hello.”

It’s embarrassing to be recognised, especially after last time. Last time had ended _catastrophically_. The girl doesn’t seem to notice how Arthur blushes and looks down into his beer.

“I’m Elena,” she says, still smiling, and offers him her hand. “I’m always on the late bartending shift.”

“Er. Arthur.”

He takes it, hesitantly, and they shake.

“Excellent. Want to help me out tonight, too?”

Contrary to what he expected, Arthur laughs. “No, I don’t think I’m sober enough tonight, actually.”

“You sound sober.” Her eyes are boring into his, but they’re not mean. Just curious.

“I’m– I’m here for...” he trails off when he glances over his shoulder at the band. Merlin’s fingers are deftly playing the strings of his guitar, head bent in concentration. Arthur swallows, trying hard to not let his brain go where it wants to go. “Um.”

When he turns back to Elena, she’s watching him, intently, seriously.

“Who is it?” she asks, like there’s no other reason to watch the band.

“W– what?”

“Look, I’m here six days out of seven... Sound play at least twice a week. I know they sometimes have groupies backstage – the girls too, if you’re interested. And it looks like you are.”

“Er, no, no, I–”

Elena is still watching him, but gets interrupted by someone wanting a beer. She tends to the customer before getting back to Arthur. He’s sipping on his drink, trying to look cool and _not_ as embarrassed as he’s feeling.

“Or is it one of the guys?”

Arthur inhales a large gulp of beer down the wrong pipe and it takes half a minute before he can give her a sputtering, “No!”

“Wow,” she says, like Arthur has told her more than he actually did.

He can see the sad smile on her face. They’re both quiet for a few minutes, Elena tending to a couple of customers, and Arthur watching the band. Watching Merlin.

“I won’t judge you, you know.” Her voice is quiet. “I kinda fancy Morgana, myself. She’s hot and feisty and angry, and she’s bound to be like a ravaging fire in bed, yeah?”

Swallowing hard, Arthur eventually manages to get the words out. “Does– does Merlin pick up people? Girls?”

“Oh, well,” Elena says, but her voice has a strange quality. When Arthur looks up at her, there’s a wicked gleam in her eyes. “He’s the only one that I haven’t seen pick someone up after a show.... so I don’t _really_ know.”

But there it is. If Merlin doesn’t have anything to hide, why wouldn’t he just drag the prettiest girls home and fuck them silly? Or why even drag them home when there’s the back room? The girls surely wouldn’t mind, considering how they scream for him and tries to grab him when he gets close to the edge of the stage... Arthur’s head reels at the thought that maybe Merlin doesn’t pick up girls is because maybe, possibly, he isn’t into them in the first place.

Arthur might actually have a chance. _Oh my God._

Swallowing suddenly gets very, very difficult, and he takes another gulp of his beer. For a few minutes, he fights with his mind to let go of all the situations where he could “talk” to Merlin, and where Merlin could “talk” to him. When he finally snaps out of it, the set finishes. Morgana looks elated and throws a scary grin at Gwen, who returns a much kinder one. The other guitarist – the one that isn’t Merlin – swishes with his half-long hair and clasps the drummer on the back, before loudly suggesting a round of beer for all of them. He gets an offer from someone in the audience right away, and winks at the girl before shamelessly tilting his head towards the backstage area. The drummer rolls his eyes, but smiles when the couple disappears behind the black door. He says something to Morgana, who first looks a bit disgusted, but then laughs.

Merlin stands off to the side, again fiddling with his guitar. Something’s wrong with it, because Arthur can see how Merlin frowns and his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows harshly. There’s sweat dripping from his hair after the set, and Arthur thinks that it would be the best feeling in the world to lick it off that thin, lovely body. That thin, lovely, hopefully _naked_ body, displayed under Arthur, set up like a meal he could never eat his fill of.

This... God, he can’t keep thinking like this – not here – or this entire situation will get even more embarrassing. Biting down hard at the corner of his lip, he concentrates on the pain to rid himself of the dirty thoughts.

“Hey, I need to go,” he says to Elena. His voice is rough, but he hopes she won’t notice.

She just smiles at him before returning to her bartender duties. Arthur takes a few wobbly steps before shaping up enough to fix his eyes on the prize, and walking in a decently straight line towards it.

When he gets to the edge of the stage, close to where Merlin is crouching down to fiddle with some chords, he halts and takes a few seconds to think of something witty to say. Nothing comes to mind.

“Er,” he begins.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re a fucking fuckwit, Arthur._

“I mean–”

Merlin turns to him then, and his eyes meet Arthur’s and suddenly, all is lost. It feels like Arthur can’t breathe, and has the ground fallen out beneath his feet? It feels like it, because he stumbles backwards and is close to falling when a hand closes around his wrist.

“You’re an odd one,” Merlin says as he steadies him.

“’M not.”

The answer is petulant even to Arthur’s own ears and he blushes. So much for acting cool. For a beat, Merlin looks surprised, but then his open mouth turns into a grin and he huffs out a laugh.

“I–” he starts.

“Well, well, well... If it isn’t mister sell-out.”

The voice is crisp and feels like a slap to the face. Arthur instinctively draws his arm away from under Merlin’s fingers before someone _sees_. It takes a second for him to realise that Merlin could have let him go the second he saw that Arthur wasn’t going to fall, but he hadn’t. That thought runs like a shiver down his spine, a shiver that turns into a pool of heat when it takes a side-trip to his stomach.

But though he doesn’t want anything but to talk to Merlin, making him understand that he’s not a child, he’s not petulant, he’s not an idiot. He just doesn’t know how to deal with Morgana’s razor-sharp tongue.

“I’m not a sell-out,” he tells his feet.

“Oh, really? Pretty sure you are. You’re a Pendragon.”

The blush on Arthur’s cheeks reaches even higher. _Oh_. That explains her chilly reception last week. Of course she knows. Arthur thinks of his father’s anti-abortion speech in the Lord’s a few weeks back, and cringes.

“Well, I’m not my dad,” he presses out between clenched teeth, “like I’m sure you’re not your mother.”

Arthur didn’t know anything about Morgana fifteen seconds ago, but the flash of hurt and surprise in her eyes tells him more than anything else could have. But it’s just there for a second before she manages to hide it behind a wall of rage instead.

“Get. Out.” she says, her voice cold, “Get out before I _throw_ you out.”

Arthur doesn’t dare look up at Merlin, but just as he’s about to turn and leave – again – he feels a hand grip his wrist.

“Stay.”

“Merlin!”

“Morgana! We were having a conversation.”

There’s a long pause where Arthur keeps staring at Merlin’s fingers around his wrist, and he’s not sure if the tension in the air is because of that, or if it’s because Merlin and Morgana are shooting daggers at each other. Might be both.

Eventually, Morgana scoffs and turns. “Fine,” she says, “but if he interferes with the band, he’s out of here, _and_ I’m blaming you for all the trouble.”

“Fine.”

And then they’re back to being as alone as they can be in a room full of people. Merlin releases his hold on Arthur’s wrist again, but takes a second to run his thumb over the thin skin of the inside of it before letting go completely.

“Do you smoke?”

Arthur clears his throat. “Sure.”

He doesn’t. Not really, but if that’s the opportunity he’s going to get... Smoking doesn’t look difficult. He’s sure he can fake it for long enough to get to talk to Merlin, at least. Get an idea of what’s in his mind.

“Come on, then,” Merlin says, a small grin tugging at his mouth before beckoning for Arthur to follow.

 

~~*~~

 

They step out into the alley behind the club. It’s dark and though it doesn’t seem to be raining anymore, their surroundings are damp and the smell from the nearby skips is pungent, although not overwhelming. Arthur stays on the steps and lets the door slam shut behind him, afraid to get too close to Merlin, just in case it turns out he has misread this situation. Merlin doesn’t look back, but crosses the narrow alleyway and pulls out a couple of cigarettes from his jeans pocket.

Leisurely leaning back against the brick wall, he offers one to Arthur. For a second, Arthur only watches the long fingers holding it, and he can feel his face heat up again. Eventually, he takes the offering, and Merlin takes out a lighter and first lights his own and then Arthur’s cigarette.

Watching Merlin is a bit of a gamble, because on one hand it’s amazingly rewarding: His jacket sleeves are upturned and his arms are thin, but there are muscles there, too. The skin is pale, but not unhealthily so, just as if Merlin is rarely out in the sun. Maybe he isn’t. He loves his music – that much is clear from watching him on stage – and probably spends most of his time indoors, playing.

It’s also extremely dangerous, because everything about him is tempting. There’s nothing Arthur wants more than to get his lips on that skin, push him down, hold him, kiss him–

That’s as far as Arthur has got in his thoughts when Merlin puts his cigarette in his mouth, takes a slow drag and then raises his arms above his head and stretches.

That does _things_ to Arthur. Bad, bad things. What the fuck is wrong with him?

He knows what’s wrong. It’s the heat pooling in his gut, the desire he’s never quite acted upon until now, what he believes is an invitation in the way Merlin stands, and Arthur wants to pounce on that gorgeous piece of flesh sticking out under his open jacket and shirt.

He takes a drag of his cigarette and, being as inexperienced as he is, swallows the smoke and promptly starts to cough. His eyes run and he has to lean forward to catch his breath again. When he looks up, it’s to see Merlin watching him intently with a small smile on his face.

“Not a smoker, then?” he says.

The blush deepens on Arthur’s face when he breaks eye contact and shakes his head. “Not really.”

His voice is croaky and he wants to try to take another drag of the cigarette just to show that he isn’t such a dolt that he doesn’t even know how to smoke, but he doesn’t. He just holds the cigarette perched gingerly between his fingers, rolling it carefully.

Merlin’s eyes follow his movements and he licks his lips, seemingly unaware of his own tell.

For a tense moment, their gaze meet and Merlin smirks when Arthur shyly looks away.

“You’re not really good at this seducing business, are you?”

Arthur takes a breath that’s too big, and nearly starts coughing again. “I– What?”

“Isn’t that what you are trying to do? Seduce me?”

“I, uh, I–”

The crinkles around Merlin’s eyes when he smiles make him even more gorgeous, and that’s really all Arthur can concentrate on right now. He stares until he feels his eyes are going to pop out of his skull, and when Merlin takes a step closer, and then another, he shivers from the anticipation of it.

“Pendragon–”

“Arthur, please, I don’t agree with my father’s–”

“ _Arthur_ , then,” Merlin says, voice full with mischief, “Arthur... I’ve seen you around for weeks. You’re always by the bar, or in the middle of the crowd, or off somewhere to the side if you don’t want to be seen that night. But you’re almost always there when we stop playing – except for the last week, which I guess is Morgana’s fault. But, anyway, you’re hard to miss in a crowd, because...”

Merlin’s long fingers runs through Arthur’s hair, and when Arthur drops his cigarette on his trousers in surprise, he doesn’t really notice.

“... because you’re flat-out gorgeous. Golden hair and a fit body, and those eyes that never look at anyone but me. Very flattering.” The corners of his eyes crinkle some more when Arthur starts stuttering, “So maybe I’ve been waiting and hoping for you to make your move. And _God_ , it took you forever.”

He takes another step forward. “But at least you did eventually.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide when Merlin leans in and his lips brush Arthur’s, and it takes him several seconds to respond properly. It doesn’t happen until long fingers curl into his hair, and guide his head a little, urging him on, but suddenly all the feelings Arthur has tried to repress come rushing forward at once. He grabs Merlin’s shoulders and pushes him back against the wall roughly.

A small hitching sound escapes Merlin’s lips when his back hits the wall, and he turns his head away when Arthur leans in for another kiss.

“Air... some air’s good.”

“Kissing is better,” Arthur argues and captures Merlin’s lips again.

It’s like a dam breaking, and Arthur’s instincts take over. He pulls at Merlin’s jacket and shirt while pressing urgent kisses to Merlin’s lips and jaw, wanting to get his hands on that lithe body. Just as eager but more in control of himself, Merlin unbuttons Arthur’s shirt and is the first to actually reach skin. His fingers trace paths on Arthur’s chest, eliciting a few quiet moans. When they break apart again, they’re both breathing heavily, and then Merlin’s fingers go to Arthur’s belt.

“You want it?”

Arthur’s hips bucks forward in response, and Merlin chuckles, but his hands still.

“What–” Arthur starts, but Merlin kisses him again and he quiets.

They kiss for another couple of minutes, less desperate this time and more exploring. Arthur reaches in under Merlin’s shirt and the skin under his fingertips is cold, but smooth and everything he’s ever dreamt of. Their surroundings and the smells from the garbage is forgotten, and so is the risk of detection. At least for a little while.

Merlin leans his forehead against Arthur’s, licking his lips. His breathing is ragged, and Arthur’s pretty sure he’s breathing like a sled dog himself – tongue out and all.

Merlin’s eyes are closed and his demeanour calm, but his voice cracks a little on the last word when he asks, “Want to come back to mine?”

Surprised, Arthur looks up and there are those blue eyes again. Now, they’re not mischievous anymore, but searching for something they’re not sure they’re going to find. God, it’s stupid, how can he think that Arthur doesn’t want to go?

“I do, of course I do,” he says, and Merlin breaks into a grin.

“Thank _fuck_.”

And then his long, pale fingers are wrapped around Arthur’s wrist again, tugging him along. They’re both slipping a bit on the wet street as they’re trying to cover themselves up again. Everything suddenly feels more risky, out on the street where anyone can see them; but when Arthur tumbles slightly against Merlin’s side, feeling his warmth even through layers of clothes, he relaxes. The laugh bubbling out of Merlin’s chest is infectious and Arthur wrestles out of the grip around his wrist. Before Merlin starts thinking he’s changed his mind, Arthur smoothly grabs his hand instead, carefully twining their fingers together 

When Merlin looks up at him, Arthur finally understands _this_.

The differences between them, the band, his father, the people who don’t understand... It’s time to forget about that for a while, and Arthur is more than willing.

~~*~~

THE END

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's my personal headcanon that, later, Arthur tries to get onto Morgana's good side by hinting that the cute bartender, Elena, might be interested in her. At first, Morgana blows him off and keeps calling him a wanker, but when Elena and Morgana eventually get together the relationship between Arthur and Morgana actually improves a little bit. But maybe that's just me. I'm a sucker for happiness.


End file.
